Getting back on the horse

The last time I ran was last Sunday.  When, in my last few miles, I came upon a small pick-up truck parked on the side of the road.  My internal flag went up, heart rate increased, grasp on my pepper spray tightened, and I increased the space between us as I approached a man sitting in the driver seat with the window open.

Man:    You must be tired!  I saw you going up that big hill and around the block!

Me:      [ W A R N I N G – why has he noticed me in two very different areas and why is he sitting here? ]

Maybe 2 minutes later, he passed me (same direction) and gave a normal wave with no further obvious  ‘creepiness’.  But the damage was done with his replaying having seen me go up the hill, around the block, and now, sitting parked for no obvious reason in the one area of the road where there are no houses.  I hope he meant no harm and just has no self-awareness, but I’m going to continue to assume he (and others) might be up to no good.  Similar to living in Florida; assume every body of water contains an alligator and you can’t go wrong.  So I assume anyone/any vehicle has the potential to be bad.  It sucks to think that way, but the alternative could be that I don’t return home.  Not an option.

I haven’t run since then because I’ve felt afraid.  Afraid and incredibly angry.  Afraid of evil people who terrorize women who (god forbid) try to exercise to stay healthy and fit.  Angry that we women are literally risking our lives to go out for a run.

So today I ran.  But I ran with a bodyguard.  Yes, my husband insisted on driving around my route to make sure I felt comfortable.  Honestly, I didn’t argue.  I stepped out in the light of day, knowing my husband was always close by, and still armed with my pepper spray.  And while I was relieved to get back out, I felt so heavy – like when you try to run when you have a lump in your throat.  You just can’t cry and run.  Period.  That’s how today’s run felt.  I can’t get Eliza Fletcher and so many other women who have met the same fate out of my head.  The terror, the pain, and the sorrow whenever she knew she might not make it home.  I just can’t.

I don’t want to be so afraid that I don’t live.  But I also want to stay alive.  Today I got back on the horse, albeit with a safety net.  And I will work on getting back and staying on the horse safely and being even more vigilant than ever.  I read a comment a running insta-friend posted on this topic that really resonated with me:  “…I shifted my focus from the ‘it shouldn’t have to be this way’ to ‘this is the way today’s world is…”  As much as I want to stick my fingers in my ears and block it all out, I know I'm going to have to put on my big-girl running shorts and run.  Run for Eliza...run for myself....run for us all.